Chapter Text
Deafening roars of ten thousand screaming fans still echoed in Qiu Dingjie’s ears like a physical vibration that rattled his ribs and made his teeth ache. The air inside the massive Bangkok arena was thick with the sweltering humidity of Thailand, the artificial fog of stage pyrotechnics, and the chaotic overwhelming mix of thousands of different pheromones.
Dingjie stood near the barricade of the VIP standing section, feeling entirely out of place. Confetti rained down from the ceiling, glittering silver and gold under the sweeping stadium lights. On the LED screens flanking the stage, the glowing logo of Desire4 and Good Night, Bangkok pulsed in time with the fading bass of their encore track.
He shouldn't be here. He really, really, shouldn't be here.
Dingjie was an Omega, and not just any Omega. He was the carefully hidden, fiercely protected, non-celebrity boyfriend of Huang Xing. Yes, that Huang Xing. The lead vocalist, the main dancer, the ACE, and the most notoriously charismatic Alpha of Desire4, currently, the biggest Chinese boyband in the hemisphere.
The tour was scheduled to wrap up in Shanghai next week. Dingjie only had to wait seven more days. But a week felt like an eternity when they had already been apart for five agonizingly long weeks. The distance, combined with the natural biological clinginess of an Omega separated from his Alpha mate for too long, had driven Dingjie half mad. Every time they did a video call, seeing the exhaustion bruising the skin under Xing’s beautiful eyes, Dingjie’s heart had physically ached. So, entirely on impulse, he had booked a last minute flight from Shanghai to Bangkok, bought a ridiculously overpriced resale VIP ticket from a scalper, and flown thousands of miles just to breathe the same air as his boyfriend for three hours.
He hadn't told Xing. If Xing knew Dingjie was in the standing pit, surrounded by thousands of excited unregulated Alphas and Betas, the idol would have likely stopped the concert to drag him backstage himself. Xing was fiercely protective, almost territorial, as most prime mated Alphas were.
Dingjie adjusted the thick black mask covering his nose and mouth, pulling the brim of his bucket hat down further over his eyes. His skin felt tacky with sweat, and the clinical grade scent blockers he had sprayed all over his pulse points were starting to give him a migraine. The blockers smelled like sterile rubbing alcohol and bitter chalk, entirely masking his natural soothing scent of orange blossoms and rum. It was uncomfortable, but necessary.
As the crowd began to filter out, directed by shouting security guards in green vests, Dingjie looked down at the small card in his hand. Every VIP ticket holder had been given one upon entry. It was a lottery. Out of the ten thousand screaming fans in the arena tonight, only one hundred of those cards contained a golden star hidden beneath the scratch off paint.
One hundred people. A one percent chance.
Dingjie stared at the glittering golden star revealed on his card, his stomach doing a complicated series of flips. It was a pass for the post concert Hi-Touch session. A brief fleeting moment to walk past the four members of Desire4, look them in the eye, and slap their hands.
He had scratched it idly while waiting for the concert to start, fully expecting a "Thank You For Your Support" message. When the gold star appeared, he had almost dropped it. Rationality told him to throw the card away. Going backstage to the Hi-Touch was a huge risk. What if Xing recognized his eyes immediately? What if the scent blockers failed and Xing caught a whiff of his scent and went wild? The media would have a field day if Huang Xing caused a scene over a "random" fan.
But as Dingjie stood in the clearing arena, his heart overruled his head. He missed him. He missed him so much it felt like a physical weight crushing his chest. He just wanted to look at him up close. He wanted to feel the warmth of Xing's palm against his, even if it was just for a split second, even if there was a barrier of a thousand rules between them. He would keep his mask on, keep his head down, and squeeze his hand. Just once.
Taking a deep shaky breath, Dingjie turned away from the main exits and followed the glowing signs directing the winners toward the backstage holding area.
The queue for the Hi-Touch was organized in a long brightly lit concrete hallway deep within the bowels of the stadium. The air conditioning here was blasted on high. Such a sharp contrast to the sweaty standing pit, raising goosebumps on Dingjie’s bare arms.
The hundred winners were lined up in single file, bracketed by serious looking Thai security guards and Desire4’s touring staff. The atmosphere in the line was electric. Girls and boys were practically vibrating with nervous energy, whispering frantically to one another, fixing their makeup in the reflections of their phone screens, and clutching albums, letters, and plushies.
Dingjie stood near the middle of the pack, keeping his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his oversized black cargo pants. He felt like an absolute anomaly. Most of the fans here were dressed to the nines. Glittering skirts, elaborate makeup, sheer tops, and strong perfumes. Dingjie was wearing a plain slightly oversized black t-shirt, his bucket hat, and his black mask. He looked more like a lost stagehand than a devoted fan.
"Excuse me?"
A soft tentative voice broke through his internal spiral of anxiety. Dingjie blinked and turned his head slightly.
The person standing in line directly behind him was smiling brightly. It was a girl, looking to be around his age, perhaps early twenties. Even with the scent patch blockers she was wearing, Dingjie could still detect the faint deliberate wisps of vanilla and sugar radiating from her. An Omega. And a stunningly beautiful one at that. She had large round eyes, flawless porcelain skin, and perfectly styled hair that cascaded in soft waves down her back.
"Hi," the girl said, her voice trembling slightly with unspent adrenaline. "I'm sorry to bother you, I'm just so nervous I feel like I'm going to pass out. I needed to talk to someone. Is this your first time winning a Hi-Touch?"
Dingjie hesitated, but his natural politeness won out. He nodded, keeping his voice soft and low so as not to draw attention. "Yeah. First time."
"Me too!" she squealed quietly, clapping her hands together. "I can't believe it. When I scratched the card, I started crying right there in the merchandise line. The concert was absolutely incredible, wasn't it? Did you see Jiang Heng's solo? I swear, when he did that very low note, the whole stadium shook."
"It was a great show," Dingjie agreed, finding a small smile behind his mask. Jiang Heng was Desire4's leader. An Alpha who has a weird sense of humour, liked to chatters, and a motherhen who constantly scolded Xing for being a picky eater. It was always amusing to Dingjie to see how the fans perceived them.
"Your Mandarin is really good," the girl noted, tilting her head. "Are you a local, or did you travel?"
"I traveled," Dingjie answered honestly. "I flew in from Shanghai this morning."
The girl’s eyes widened in sheer delight, and she leaned in closer as a sense of instant camaraderie forming in her mind. "No way! I'm from Beijing! Oh my god, Chinese fans are uniting in Bangkok! I flew in yesterday. The lengths we go to for these boys, right? The tour doesn't even hit the mainland until next week, but I just couldn't wait."
Dingjie felt a pang of empathy. Tell me about it, he thought. I couldn't wait either.
"It's a long flight," Dingjie offered diplomatically.
"Totally worth it," she sighed dreamily, clutching her hands over her chest. "They are just ... perfect. All four of them. The Alpha energy they were radiating on that stage? I swear my knees gave out during the harmonization. Hao Xuan's raspy voice was insane, and Li Peien's abs? Illegal. Just illegal."
Dingjie chuckled politely. He was used to this. Before Xing had debuted, when they were just two college students navigating late night study sessions and cheap instant ramen, Dingjie never imagined his boyfriend would become an object of international desire. It had been an adjustment, learning to share Xing with the world. But he loved Xing, and Xing loved him, so he had learned to nod and smile when people gushed over the boyband.
"So," the girl asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity as she looked Dingjie up and down. "You're wearing all black. Very mysterious. It's hard to tell ... who is your bias?"
Dingjie opened his mouth, prepared to give his standard safe answer. He usually claimed he was a fan of Li Peien, the calm singer, because it kept the attention away from Xing.
But before Dingjie could even form the syllable of Peien's name, the girl’s excitement bubbled over, unable to contain her own answer.
"Because mine is Xing!" she blurted out. Her cheeks flush a delicate pretty pink. "Obviously!"
Dingjie closed his mouth. The unspoken name dying on his tongue.
He actually looked at her then. Properly looked at her. In his nervous haze, he had only taken in her general appearance, but now, prompted by her declaration, he noticed the details.
She was wearing a stunning dress in a bright vivid shade of azure glacier blue. Huang Xing’s official support color.
Pinned delicately into her soft flowing hair were three glittering silver butterfly clips. The butterfly was Xing's signature icon. Dangling from her earlobes were tiny asymmetrical star earrings. Xing. The Chinese character for star.
And finally, clutched tightly in her manicured hands, was a customized tote bag shaped like Shinchan, the mischievous cartoon character that Xing notoriously loved and referenced in countless interviews.
Every single inch of this girl was a walking breathing shrine to his boyfriend.
"He was just ... ethereal tonight," the girl continued, oblivious to the sudden stillness that had fallen over Dingjie. She sighed. A deep wistful sound that carried a strong dose of her sweet vanilla scent. "When he did that smirk during the bridge of Persian Cat? I thought I was going to die. He's the perfect Alpha. So tall, so handsome, with a voice that is so sexy and flirty. And his pheromones ... even through the stage blockers, you can just tell he's incredibly dominant. I would do absolutely anything to just be his Omega for a single day."
Dingjie’s stomach performed a sudden violent twist, and it had nothing to do with the pre-concert nerves.
It was an ugly visceral surge of pure unadulterated jealousy.
He knew it was irrational. This girl didn't know Xing. She knew 'Huang Xing of Desire4'. The polished, media trained, perfectly styled idol. She didn't know the Xing who snored softly when he was overtired. She didn't know the Xing who was actually terrified of horror movies and made Dingjie turn on the light in every room. She didn't know the Xing who silently cried watching sad animal rescue documentaries on Sunday afternoons.
She didn't know him, but she wanted him. With a desperate burning devotion that was written into the very clothes she wore and the accessories in her hair.
Dingjie stared at the butterfly clips in her hair. Butterflies. Xing's symbol. Dingjie had bought him a butterfly pendant for his nineteenth birthday, back when they were nobodies. Xing had loved it so much he made it his signature. Now, thousands of beautiful girls wore it to catch his eye.
The sheer insecurity of it all came crashing down on Dingjie. He was an Omega, yes, but he wasn't like her. He wasn't delicate like how an Omega should be. He was actually a little taller than Xing, with more muscle, currently wearing baggy cargo pants and smelled like hospital grade astringent. He was tired, jet lagged, and hiding in the shadows, so his flawless fair skin couldn't benefit his looks either. Meanwhile, Xing was a sun god, surrounded by millions of adoring sunflowers, all tilting their pretty heads toward his light.
Why did Xing even love him? When there were millions of stunning Omegas just like this girl, begging to throw themselves at his feet?
"Don't you think?" the girl prompted, noticing his silence. She leaned in, her big eyes searching his masked face. "Isn't Xing just ... flawless? He's completely ruined my standards for real men. I can't even look at normal Alphas anymore. How can anyone compare?"
The jealousy in Dingjie's chest boiled over, mixing with the exhaustion, the stifling heat, and the agonizing ache of missing his boyfriend. The rational part of his brain, the part that had successfully kept their relationship a secret for four years, screamed at him to just nod. To smile behind his mask, agree that Xing was handsome, and move on.
But the petty, vulnerable, exhausted Omega in him snapped. He was tired of sharing. He was tired of hearing how perfect his boyfriend was from people who only saw the glossy surface.
"I don't know," Dingjie said, his voice coming out a little sharper, a little colder than he intended.
The girl blinked, her smile faltering slightly. "What do you mean?"
Dingjie couldn't stop himself. The words spilled out, driven by a sudden protective urge to tear down the pedestal this girl had put his boyfriend on. "I just ... I don't really like Xing."
The girl froze. The effervescent energy that had been radiating from her vanished instantly, replaced by a stunned offended stiffness. "You ... you don't like him?"
"No," Dingjie muttered, looking away, staring a hole into the concrete floor. "I think he's ... annoying."
In Dingjie’s defense, his internal monologue had a completely valid context for that word. Xing was annoying. He was annoying because he was so damn handsome and charismatic that he had thousands of fans like this girl obsessing over him. He was annoying because his smile could melt glaciers. He was annoying because Dingjie loved him so much it hurt, so much that he had abandoned his life in Shanghai to fly to a humid stadium in Bangkok just for a one second touch. Xing was the most annoying thing to ever happen to Dingjie's peaceful life, because he had completely monopolized his heart.
But the girl in the azure glacier blue dress didn't know any of that.
To her, the tall masked stranger dressed in suspicious all black clothing had just looked her in the eye and insulted the love of her life.
The atmosphere between them shattered like fragile glass. The camaraderie of being fellow countrymen, the shared excitement of the VIP win, it all dissolved into absolute ice.
The girl took a very deliberate step backward, putting physical distance between them. Her round eyes narrowed. The warmth in them is replaced instantly by a fierce protective hostility. She looked at his black hat, his black mask, and his baggy clothes, and her mind instantly jumped to the worst possible conclusion.
This man wasn't a fan. He was an anti.
Idol culture was notoriously toxic, and "antis", the dedicated haters who went out of their way to stalk, harass, or harm idols they despised, were a terrifying reality. The fact that a supposed anti had somehow won a golden ticket to the most exclusive, vulnerable fan event of the night was alarming.
"If you think he's annoying," the girl said, her voice dropping to a harsh trembling whisper, "then why are you even in this line? Why did you take a ticket from someone who actually loves him?"
Dingjie flinched. The words hit entirely too close to home, striking the very core of his insecurities. Why are you in this line?
"I…." Dingjie stammered, realizing his stupid mistake. He raised a hand, wanting to backtrack, to say it was a joke, to say he liked Xing's vocals, anything to diffuse the sudden tension. "That's not what I meant. I just—"
"Don't talk to me," she cut him off sharply, turning her back to him completely. She crossed her arms over her chest. Her shoulders rigid with indignation.
Dingjie let his hand fall to his side. A sick feeling of dread washing over him. He had ruined it. He was supposed to stay invisible, stay quiet, and just get through the line. Instead, his stupid jealousy had made him pick a fight with a hardcore fan right before the most secured event of the night.
He stared at the back of her head, watching the silver butterfly clips shimmer under the harsh fluorescent lights of the hallway. He felt like an idiot.
Before he could attempt another apology, a loud crackle of a walkie talkie echoed down the hall. At the front of the line, a burly security guard stepped aside, pulling back a curtain.
"Line is moving!" a staff member yelled in Thai, then repeated in broken English and Mandarin. "Have your hands ready! No phones! No recording! Keep moving, do not stop!"
A collective shriek of excitement went up from the crowd, drowning out Dingjie's erratic heartbeat. The line surged forward.
Dingjie swallowed hard, his throat dry. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets, trying to rub the nervous sweat from his palms. Ahead of him, the girl in the blue dress was practically vibrating again, though she kept shooting paranoid, glaring glances over her shoulder at him, as if making sure he wasn't going to pull a weapon out of his cargo pants.
The curtain was pulled back, revealing a brightly lit partition. Beyond it, the faint sounds of familiar laughter and deep Alpha voices drifted into the hallway.
Desire4 was waiting.
Huang Xing was waiting.
Dingjie pulled his bucket hat down another inch, checked the seal of his mask, and stepped forward into the light.
Stepping past the curtain was like crossing the threshold into another dimension.
The concrete hallway's sterile atmosphere gave way to a brightly illuminated partition. A long white table stretched across the center of the room, flanked by an intimidating wall of security personnel, managers in sharp suits, and camera operators documenting the event for the band’s official tour DVD.
And there they were. Desire4.
Even Dingjie, who was practically immune to the manufactured glamour of the idol industry, felt a momentary wave of sensory overload. The four Alphas were lined up behind the table, radiating a commanding magnetic presence that had been carefully honed through years of media training and stage performance. The air in the room was thick with a sophisticated blend of high end colognes and the subtle lingering traces of their natural Alpha pheromones, barely kept in check by the expensive suppressants their company mandated.
The line was moving at a ruthless efficient pace. Slap, smile, move. Slap, smile, move. Staff members stood behind the fans, physically nudging anyone who dared to linger for more than three seconds.
Dingjie kept his head down. The brim of his bucket hat cast a deep shadow over the upper half of his face, while his black mask concealed the rest. His heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. His palms are sweating inside his pockets.
He was right in line behind the girl in the azure glacier blue dress. He watched her approach the table, her entire body trembling with a mixture of terror and absolute ecstasy.
First in line was Jiang Heng. The leader offered a polite handsome smile, his posture impeccably straight despite the grueling three hour performance they had just finished. Dingjie barely registered the touch of Jiang Heng’s hand as he was shuffled forward. Next was Li Peien, the visual, who was leaning against the table, offering a sweet smile to the flustered fans. Dingjie offered a robotic nod, slapping his palm and moving immediately to Hao Xuan. The man looked half asleep, his eyes glassy, but he still managed a cool effortless high five.
And then, at the very end of the table, stood Huang Xing.
Dingjie’s breath hitched in his throat. His footsteps slowed to a hesitant crawl.
Up close, stripped of the distant stadium lights and the towering LED screens, the reality of Xing’s exhaustion was painfully obvious. To the untrained eye, to the girl in the blue dress currently sobbing in front of him, Xing looked like a flawless ethereal prince. His hair was perfectly tousled, his stage makeup accentuating the sharp devastating angles of his jawline and the intense depth of his eyes.
But Dingjie wasn't a fan. He was Xing’s mate.
Dingjie saw the subtle micro expressions that millions of people missed. He saw the way Xing's broad shoulders slouched infinitesimally when he thought the cameras had panned away. He saw the forced tension around Xing's mouth, the way his eyes lacked their usual bright mischievous spark. Xing was running on fumes, completely drained, his internal battery flashing a dangerous red.
The girl in the azure glacier dress was having the moment of her life.
"Xing! I love you so much!" she cried out, her voice cracking. "I came all the way from Beijing! You were amazing tonight!"
Xing offered her his signature heart stopping smile. The one that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. It was a beautiful smile, completely genuine in its gratitude, but entirely mechanical in its execution. "Thank you," Xing murmured, his deep voice washing over the partition. "Get home safely, okay?"
The girl looked like she was going to faint as she slapped his hand. Her vanilla pheromones spiking in absolute delight before a staff member hurried her toward the exit doors.
Then, it was Dingjie’s turn.
He stepped up to the final spot at the table. He was close enough now to smell the faint trace of ghost orchids beneath Xing’s designer cologne. The familiar intoxicating scent of his Alpha. The urge to close the distance, to wrap his arms around Xing’s waist and bury his face in his neck, was a physical ache that radiated through Dingjie’s bones.
But Xing wasn't looking at him.
The Alpha’s gaze had dropped to the table. His long eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks. He was rolling his shoulders, trying to work out a knot in his muscles, completely zoned out. He didn't see the bucket hat. He didn't see the mask. He just blindly raised his right hand, palm open, waiting for the next fan to slap it and move on.
A sharp pang of sorrow, mixed with a sudden irrational spike of frustration, flared in Dingjie’s chest. He had flown across an ocean. He had braved the claustrophobic pit, the deafening noise, and the suffocating scent blockers, all for this one second. And Xing wasn't even looking at him.
Dingjie didn't slap his hand.
Instead, Dingjie reached out, sliding his palm flat against Xing’s. The contrast was maddening. Dingjie’s slightly smaller and paler hand pressing against Xing’s large veined ones.
For a fraction of a second, the contact was perfect. It was the familiar warmth Dingjie had been craving for five weeks.
But then, driven by the sheer overwhelming weight of his missing, the jealousy from the hallway, and the desperate need to make Xing look at him, Dingjie’s fingers curled inward. He didn't just touch Xing's hand. He grabbed it.
And he squeezed. Hard.
It wasn't a malicious grip, but it was sudden, firm, and entirely out of protocol for a high speed Hi-Touch event. He squeezed Xing’s fingers, his thumb digging slightly into the back of the Alpha’s knuckles.
The reaction was instantaneous.
Xing’s eyes snapped open, wide and startled. He recoiled instinctively, yanking his hand back toward his chest with a sharp intake of breath.
"Ouch," Xing hissed, rubbing his knuckles, his expression twisting from exhaustion to sudden bewildered alarm.
Time seemed to stop.
A tense silence fell over the immediate vicinity of the table, broken only by the hum of the air conditioning. The staff members nearest to Xing froze, their eyes darting to the masked man in black who was still standing at the table, his hand hovering in the empty space where Xing’s had been.
Dingjie’s heart plummeted into his stomach. Oh no. He hadn't meant to hurt him. He just wanted … he didn't even know what he wanted. He just wanted Xing to know he was there.
Before Dingjie could open his mouth, before he could even take a step back and attempt to apologize, a piercing hysterical scream shattered the silence.
"I knew it! He's an anti!"
Dingjie whipped his head around. The girl in the azure glacier dress had stopped at the exit doors. She was pointing a trembling finger directly at Dingjie. Her round eyes wide with terror and righteous fury.
"He hurt him!" she shrieked. Her voice echoing off the concrete walls, drawing the attention of every single person in the room. "I told you! In the hallway, he told me he hated Xing! He said he was annoying! He just attacked him! Security!"
The word anti was a trigger phrase in the idol industry. It was the equivalent of shouting fire in a crowded theater.
Absolute unadulterated chaos erupted.
"Hey! Step back!" a manager roared in Mandarin.
Before Dingjie could even process the accusation, before he could raise his hands to surrender, the space around him collapsed. The two massive Thai security guards who had been flanking the table moved with a practiced speed.
One moment, Dingjie was standing in front of the table. The next, a hand gripped the back of his shirt, harshly jerking him backward.
"Wait—!" Dingjie choked out, stumbling over his own boots.
A second guard tackled him from the side. The sheer force of the impact knocked the wind entirely out of Dingjie's lungs. He was slammed face first into the hard concrete floor. A knee immediately dropping between his shoulder blades, pinning him down with crushing weight.
The arena erupted into a cacophony of shouting. Fans in the line screamed and scrambled backward, pulling out their phones to record the drama. The managers were yelling orders, throwing themselves in front of the Desire4 members to shield them from the perceived threat.
"Get his hands! Check his pockets for weapons!" a staff member barked in Thai.
Dingjie gasped for air, his vision swimming. Rough hands grabbed his wrists, wrenching them painfully behind his back. In the violent struggle of the takedown, the strap of his black mask snapped.
The mask fluttered away across the concrete. His bucket hat was knocked askew, falling off his head completely.
The clinical scent blockers he had sprayed on his neck had been disrupted by the sweat and the sheer physical friction of the tackle. A tiny fractured wisp of his natural pheromones, the fresh scent of orange blossoms and rum, slipped into the air.
At the table, Xing was being ushered backward by Jiang Heng. The leader instinctively stepped in front of his youngest member. Xing was still rubbing his hand, his brow furrowed in confusion.
But then, Xing looked down at the floor.
He saw the bucket hat. He saw the black mask lying on the ground. And then, he saw the face of the "anti" currently being crushed into the concrete by two massive security guards.
Xing stopped breathing.
All the blood drained from the idol’s face, leaving him ashen. The exhaustion was replaced suddenly by a surge of pure primal adrenaline. The faint almost imperceptible scent of orange blossoms hit his nose, bypassing his rational brain and striking a direct chord in his Alpha instincts.
Mate.
A choked desperate sound tore from Xing's throat, entirely raw and entirely unscripted. The absolute panic in his eyes was blinding.
"Get off him!" Xing roared. An uncharacteristically ferocious Alpha command that reverberated in the chests of everyone in the room.
Jiang Heng turned, bewildered. "Xing, stay back—"
Xing shoved past Jiang Heng, shoving past his manager, lunging toward the security guards. "Let him go! Stop touching him!"
Dingjie, his cheek pressed agonizingly against the cold floor, heard the desperation in Xing’s voice. He forced his eyes open, blinking away the dizzying stars in his vision.
Through the forest of legs and the chaos of the room, his eyes locked with Xing’s.
Xing was terrifying at that moment. The polished idol was gone. His eyes were wide, panicked, and dark with protective fury. He was fighting against two of his own managers who had desperately grabbed his arms to hold him back, trying to keep him away from the "attacker". If Xing reached those security guards, he would throw a punch. If Xing threw a punch to protect an alleged anti, on camera, in front of a hundred fans ... it would be the end of Desire4. The media would devour them. The scandal would be insurmountable.
Dingjie couldn't let that happen. He hadn't hidden their relationship for four years just to ruin Xing’s life in five seconds.
Summoning every ounce of willpower he possessed, Dingjie stared directly into Xing’s panicked eyes.
He didn't plead for help. He didn't look scared.
Instead, Dingjie delivered a fierce, icy, and absolutely lethal glare. It was a look they had perfected over years of silent communication across crowded college cafeterias and secret dates.
Don't you dare, Dingjie’s eyes screamed. Do not say a word. Do not move. Do not ruin everything.
Xing froze.
The command in his Omega’s eyes hit him harder than a physical blow. He stopped struggling against his managers. His hands, outstretched toward Dingjie, dropped uselessly to his sides. He looked at Dingjie, pinned to the floor, his lip bleeding slightly from the impact, and the sheer agony of helplessness washed over Xing’s face. He was an Alpha, hardwired to protect his mate, and he was being ordered to stand down.
"Get him out of here!" the head manager shouted, completely misinterpreting Xing’s sudden stillness as shock. "Take him to the station! Now!"
The guards hauled Dingjie roughly to his feet. His arms ached, his wrists burning where they were gripped in a vise like hold. The fans were parting like the red sea, their phones raised, camera flashes blinding him as he was dragged toward the rear exit of the stadium.
As the cold night air of Bangkok hit his face, the initial suffocating panic began to recede, replaced by a strange clinical detachment.
As a person who has an acting degree, Dingjie was accustomed to breaking down emotional scenarios. He knew how to compartmentalize, how to force a mask over his true feelings and play a specific role. It was exactly how he had managed to deliver that icy commanding glare to Xing just moments before. He understood the mechanics of a dramatic scene. The blocking, the rising tension, the inevitable climax.
He knew how to perform under pressure.
But dealing with a scene study in a university studio was entirely, laughably, different from being manhandled by foreign stadium security and shoved into the back of a Thai police car. There was no director to yell "cut". He didn't speak the language. He had no script. And his visa was merely a tourist stamp.
As the door of the police van slammed shut, plunging him into darkness, Dingjie let his head fall back against the metal grating. He closed his eyes, the phantom warmth of Xing’s fingers still burning against his palm.
He had wanted a romantic reunion. Instead, he had just become the uncredited villain in an international idol scandal.
***
Interrogation room was a masterclass in psychological discomfort.
There were no windows, only humming fluorescent lights that cast a sickly yellow pallor over the peeling gray paint of the walls. The air conditioning was either broken or intentionally turned down to a glacial temperature, blowing a steady stream of frigid air directly onto the back of Dingjie’s neck. He sat on a rigid cold metal chair that was bolted to the floor. His wrists resting on a scratched steel table.
Every muscle in his body was screaming.
The adrenaline from the stadium tackle had long since metabolized, leaving behind a profound agonizing ache. His left shoulder throbbed with a dull rhythmic intensity where the security guard had driven a knee into his joint. His lower lip was swollen and tasted metallic from where his teeth had cut into it when his face was slammed against the concrete.
But the physical pain was nothing compared to the suffocating paralyzing terror settling deep in his chest.
He had been in this room for what felt like hours. He had lost track of time the moment his phone was confiscated during the initial pat down. His black bucket hat and the snapped black mask had been tossed into a clear plastic evidence bag sitting on the far corner of the table, mocking him.
Across from him sat a severe looking Thai police officer and a weary translator that the precinct had dragged in from a nearby district.
"The officer says," the translator began, her Mandarin strongly accented and completely devoid of empathy, "that the management company representing the musical group Desire4 has filed a preliminary incident report. You are being investigated for attempted assault, disruption of a secured event, and posing a physical threat to a foreign VIP."
Dingjie closed his eyes. A tremor wracking his slim frame. As a bachelor who has an acting degree, he had spent years studying human emotion. How to project it, how to analyze it, how to manufacture tears on cue or summon a rage he didn’t feel. But there was no acting technique in the world that could shield him from the sheer unadulterated reality of this nightmare. He didn't need to channel a character’s fear. He was drowning in his own.
"I didn't assault him," Dingjie whispered, his voice raspy and weak. "I just ... I squeezed his hand. I am a fan. I won a VIP ticket."
The translator relayed this to the officer. The officer frowned, flipping through a thin manila folder. He pulled out a photograph, sliding it across the metal table.
It was a still frame from the arena's security footage, blown up and printed on cheap paper. It showed Dingjie at the exact moment his fingers had clamped down on Xing’s hand. Because of the angle, the black clothing, and the shadow of the hat, Dingjie looked genuinely menacing. Worse, it captured Xing’s visceral reaction. The Alpha recoiling, his face twisted in a grimace of shock and pain. Beside it lay a printed statement from the girl in the blue dress, testifying that she had heard Dingjie loudly declare his hatred for Huang Xing in the hallway.
"The physical evidence and eyewitness testimony contradict your statement," the translator droned on. "Furthermore, you were wearing industrial grade scent blockers. This is highly suspicious behavior for a standard fan encounter, suggesting premeditation to avoid identification."
Dingjie’s hands shook. He pulled them off the table, burying them between his knees to hide the trembling. He wore scent blockers to protect Xing. If he had walked in there smelling like orange blossoms and rum, Xing would have lost his mind the second he stepped behind the partition, cameras be damned. He did it out of love, and now it was being used as evidence of malicious intent.
"What happens now?" Dingjie asked, his voice barely audible.
The officer spoke at length, tapping a pen against the desk.
"Because you are a foreign national involved in a high profile case," the translator explained, "and because you possess no permanent address in Thailand, you are considered a high flight risk. Your tourist visa is hereby suspended, effective immediately. Your passport will remain in police custody until a formal hearing can be arranged or until the victim's management withdraws the complaint."
The words felt like physical blows. Visa suspended. Passport confiscated.
"Wait," Dingjie choked out, panic finally breaching his carefully maintained facade. "You can't take my passport. I have a flight back to Shanghai tomorrow. I have university classes. You can't just keep me here."
The translator offered a flat unsympathetic look. "You will be transferred to a holding cell for the remainder of the night. Tomorrow, you may contact the Chinese embassy to request legal counsel. Until then, you are under the jurisdiction of the Thai authorities."
The officer stood up, signaling the end of the interrogation.
Dingjie was left alone in the room. The metal door clicking shut with a terrifying finality.
He curled in on himself, resting his forehead against the cold steel of the table. The tears he had been desperately holding back finally broke free, hot and silent, tracking down his pale cheeks and stinging his busted lip.
He was so tired. The jet lag, the emotional whiplash, the physical trauma, it was all crashing down on him.
But beneath the exhaustion was a creeping insidious seed of doubt.
It had been at least three hours since the incident. The concert was over. The arena was empty. If Xing was going to come, he would have been here by now.
What if he can't come? Dingjie’s mind spiraled. The agency was ruthless. Desire4 was currently the crown jewel of their company, generating millions in revenue. If the management realized that Xing’s "attacker" was actually his secret unauthorized Omega boyfriend, they would do everything in their power to neutralize the threat. They could lock Xing in his hotel room. They could confiscate his phone. They could quietly let the Thai police deport Dingjie, burying the scandal before it ever saw the light of day.
Or worse... what if Xing was furious?
Dingjie had broken their cardinal rule. They had sworn, four years ago, to keep their worlds completely separate until Xing’s contract allowed for public dating. Dingjie had let his jealousy, his biological clinginess, and his sheer stupidity drive him across an ocean and right into a public relations disaster. He had humiliated Xing in front of his fans. He had nearly caused a riot.
Maybe Xing wasn't coming because Dingjie had finally pushed him too far.
The air in the room grew thicker, heavy with the scent of distressed Omega. Without the blockers, the delicate sweet aroma of orange blossoms and rum was beginning to permeate the sterile room, turning sour and sharp at the edges with profound anxiety and sorrow. Dingjie wrapped his arms around his head, trying to make himself as small as possible, wishing the floor would simply open up and swallow him whole.
Suddenly, the metal door swung open again.
Dingjie flinched, expecting the police officer to return with handcuffs to drag him to a holding cell.
Instead, he was hit by a physical wall of scent.
It was overpowering, sharp, and suffocatingly dark. It smelled like a scarce flower called ghost orchids. It was the scent of a prime Alpha pushed entirely past the brink of rational thought, radiating a dominant fury that commanded the immediate submission of everyone in the room.
Dingjie gasped, his head snapping up.
Huang Xing stood in the doorway.
He looked absolutely nothing like the shining idol who had been standing behind the white table hours ago. The stage makeup had been scrubbed off, leaving his skin bare and taut over the sharp angles of his cheekbones. He was dressed in a black hoodie, the hood pulled up over a black baseball cap, a black surgical mask pulled down to his chin.
But it was his eyes that made Dingjie stop breathing.
They were pitch black, dilated, and blazing with an intensity that was downright lethal. He looked like a cornered predator.
Behind Xing, the hallway was a flurry of chaotic activity. Dingjie could see lawyers in immaculate suits aggressively waving documents in the faces of the stunned Thai police officers. The head manager of Desire4 was sweating profusely, rapid firing Thai to the precinct captain.
And flanking Xing, acting as a physical barrier against the prying eyes of the station, were three tall disguised figures. Jiang Heng, Li Peien, and Hao Xuan. The entire band had come.
Xing didn't look at his teammates. He didn't even look at the police. His burning gaze was locked entirely on Dingjie.
He stepped into the interrogation room, the sheer mass of his Alpha presence making the air pressure in the small space plummet. He looked at Dingjie’s disheveled hair, the dirt on his oversized black t-shirt, and finally, the swollen bruised cut on his lower lip.
Xing’s jaw clenched so hard Dingjie thought his teeth might shatter. A low vibrating growl, barely audible, but felt in the very floor they currently stood, rumbled in Xing’s chest.
"X–Xing...." Dingjie whimpered softly. A pathetic broken sound. He half rose from his chair, his Omega instincts screaming at him to seek comfort, to bury his face in his Alpha's chest and sob until the terror went away.
But Xing didn't reach for him.
Xing didn't even say a word. He just stared at Dingjie, his chest heaving, his eyes entirely unreadable behind the storm of fury.
Before Dingjie could take a step toward him, a lawyer pushed past Xing into the room, slapping Dingjie’s passport down onto the metal table alongside a stack of release forms.
"Sign these," the lawyer barked in Mandarin, thrusting a pen at Dingjie. "The management is dropping the assault charges. We are bailing you out and transferring custody. Sign the nondisclosure agreement, sign the release, and do not say a single word. We have a car waiting out back. Move."
Dingjie’s hands shook so badly he could barely hold the pen. He signed his name blindly where the lawyer pointed, his eyes constantly darting back to Xing. But Xing had already turned his back, stepping out into the hallway, his posture rigid and unyielding.
He’s furious, Dingjie thought. A fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over. He’s going to break up with me. I ruined his career, and he’s going to end it.
"Let's go," Jiang Heng’s voice clipped from the doorway. The leader of Desire4 looked exhausted and thoroughly irritated, glaring at Dingjie with naked hostility. "Keep your head down. If the paparazzi get a photo of us bailing out an anti, the label will kill us all."
Dingjie grabbed his passport, clutching it to his chest like a lifeline. He followed the lawyers out of the room, flanked immediately by Li Peien and Hao Xuan, who boxed him in securely.
They moved quickly through the labyrinthine corridors of the police station, bypassing the main lobby entirely. They exited through a rusted rear door that opened into a dark secluded alleyway where a massive blacked out luxury VIP van sat idling, its engine a low menacing purr.
"Get in the back," the manager ordered, shoving Dingjie toward the open sliding door.
Dingjie scrambled into the van. The interior was cavernous, featuring three rows of plush captain's chairs. He retreated all the way to the third row, pressing himself against the tinted window.
A second later, Xing climbed in. The Alpha moved with a silent grace, slamming the door behind him and dropping into the seat directly beside Dingjie. He didn't look at him. He just stared straight ahead, his hands gripping his knees, his knuckles bone white.
The three bandmates piled into the middle row in front of them. The manager took the front passenger seat, slamming the partition shut to isolate the rear cabin, giving the idols privacy.
The van peeled out of the alleyway, tires screeching against the asphalt as they merged onto the highways of Bangkok.
Inside the cabin, the tension was so thick it could be cut with a knife.
For a long moment, the only sound was the hum of the tires and the erratic breathing of the five men in the back. Dingjie shrank into the luxurious leather, his body screaming in pain, his heart breaking in two. Xing was so close their knees were almost touching, yet, he felt a million miles away. The scent pouring off Xing was oppressive, lacking any of the soft comforting undertones he usually reserved for his mate. It was pure aggressive Alpha, drowning out the faint terrified flower scent Dingjie was emitting.
Li Peien was the first to break the silence.
The singer turned around in his seat, draping his arm over the headrest, fixing Dingjie with a glare.
"I cannot believe we just did that," Peien hissed, his voice dripping with venom. "I cannot believe the company actually authorized a bailout for a psychotic anti. We should have left him in that cell to rot."
Dingjie flinched, biting his bruised lip, forcing himself to stay silent.
"The label didn't want to risk a public trial," Jiang Heng reasoned from the seat next to Peien, rubbing his temples in an effort to stave off a migraine. "If it went to court, it would drag on for months. It’s a distraction. But I agree, it’s sickening. Paying off the cops to release the guy who just attacked our center."
"He didn't just attack him, he infiltrated a secured VIP event," Hao Xuan chimed in, leaning forward. "Who knows what he was planning? Did you see the way he grabbed Xing’s hand? He could have had a blade, or acid, or—"
"Shut up," Xing growled.
It was the first time Xing had spoken since he arrived at the station. His voice was low, incredibly dark, and sent a shiver down Dingjie’s spine.
The three bandmates paused, misinterpreting Xing’s anger entirely.
"We're on your side, Xing," Peien said softly, trying to project a comforting camaraderie. "We know you're shaken up. We all are. Having an anti get that close ... it's a security failure. Management is going to fire the entire Thai detail tomorrow."
"But what do we do with him now?" Jiang Heng asked, gesturing dismissively toward the back row without actually looking at Dingjie. "We can't just take him back to the hotel. We should drop him off at the Chinese embassy and let them deport his ass. Or take him to the airport and throw him on the first cargo plane to Beijing."
"He said he hated you, Xing," Peien added, his eyes narrowing as he finally looked directly at Dingjie. "A fan heard him say it in line. He’s sick in the head. We need a restraining order the second we touch down in Shanghai. If I ever see his face near our dorms, I swear to god I'll break his legs myself."
The words felt like a barrage of physical blows. Anti. Psychotic. Sick in the head.
Dingjie’s chest heaved. He couldn't take it anymore. He could handle the police, he could handle the bruises, but he could not handle the absolute silence from the man sitting next to him. He could not handle Xing letting his bandmates tear him apart while he sat there, cold and unmoving.
Dingjie turned his head. He looked at Xing’s rigid profile, the sharp line of his jaw under the surgical mask, the dark stormy depths of his eyes staring blankly at the partition.
"Xing," Dingjie whispered.
The word was so small, so fractured, it barely made it over the hum of the van’s engine.
But it was enough.
Xing’s breath hitched. His hands, which had been gripping his knees so hard they were trembling, slowly uncurled.
"Xing, please," Dingjie choked out, the dam finally breaking. Tears spilled over his lashes, tracking hot and fast down his cheeks. He reached out, his shaking fingers tentatively brushing against the sleeve of Xing’s oversized hoodie. "I'm so sorry. I know I promised I wouldn't come. I know I broke the rules. I didn't mean to grab you like that, I just ... I wanted you to look at me. I missed you so much. Please say something. Please don't be mad. Yell at me, tell me I'm stupid, just ... please don't look at me like that."
In the middle row, Jiang Heng scoffed loudly. "Are you delusional? Are you actually trying to apologize to him right now? Do you have some kind of parasocial psychosis? He doesn't know you, you creep. Don't touch him!"
Jiang Heng reached back, intending to slap Dingjie’s hand away from Xing’s arm.
He never made it.
Xing swatted Jiang Heng’s wandering hand with such ferocity that the leader yelped, recoiling into his seat.
In the exact same fraction of a second, Xing twisted his entire body around. His large hands shot out to finally grab his boyfriend. One hand fisted in the fabric of Dingjie’s ruined black t-shirt, while the other, cupped the back of Dingjie’s neck, fingers tangling deep into his hair.
Before Dingjie could even gasp, Xing hauled him across the nonexistent space between the captain’s chairs.
Xing crushed his mouth against Dingjie’s.
It wasn't a gentle kiss. It wasn't sweet, or romantic, or cinematic.
It was a collision. It was a desperate, bruising, oxygen stealing act of pure possession. It was an Alpha who had spent the last three hours believing his mate was locked in a foreign cage, hurt, terrified, and entirely out of his reach. Xing kissed him like he was trying to devour him, his teeth clashing painfully against Dingjie’s, his tongue invading his mouth with a dominant frantic urgency.
Xing’s thumb pressed into the pulse point on Dingjie’s neck, feeling the erratic terrified heartbeat there. With a low possessive growl that vibrated directly into Dingjie’s throat, Xing finally, intentionally, unleashed his pheromones. The bitter, angry scent transformed instantly. The flower scent sweetened, melting over the air in the cabin, wrapping around Dingjie’s terrified scent, cocooning it, shielding it, and claiming it entirely.
Dingjie let out a muffled sob against Xing’s lips. All the tension, all the fear, all the agonizing doubt evaporated. He threw his arms around Xing’s neck, clinging to the broad shoulders of his Alpha, kissing him back with equally devastating desperation, entirely uncaring of the blood from his cut lip mixing between them.
The van went dead silent.
The transformation in the cabin was so instantaneous, so utterly shocking, that it defied all logic.
In the middle row, Jiang Heng, Li Peien, and Hao Xuan had frozen into living statues.
Jiang Heng’s hand was still hovering in the air where Xing had struck it away. His jaw had literally dropped open, his eyes wide enough to show the whites all the way around. Li Peien had stopped breathing entirely, staring at the back of Xing’s head in absolute uncomprehending horror. Hao Xuan blinked slowly, rubbing his eyes as if he were hallucinating.
They sat there, paralyzed in the deafening silence, listening to the wet desperate sounds of their proud untouchable center vocalist practically inhaling the "psychotic anti" in the back seat.
It took a full thirty seconds for Xing to finally pull back.
He didn't let Dingjie go. Instead, Xing buried his face in the crook of Dingjie’s neck, inhaling deeply, a shuddering breath rattling his frame. He rubbed his nose against the scent gland there. A deeply intimate biological gesture of an Alpha self soothing against his mate.
Dingjie was panting, his lips swollen, his eyes wide and dazed as he stared at the ceiling of the van. His fingers are still tightly twisted in the fabric of Xing’s hoodie.
"What...." Jiang Heng croaked. His voice cracked, sounding like a dying man in a desert. "What the actual ... hell?"
Li Peien looked like he was about to pass out. "Xing. What ... what are you doing? Are you insane? Are you under the influence of something? That is the anti! He attacked you!"
Hao Xuan leaned forward, his voice a terrified whisper. "Did he bite you? Blink twice if you need me to choke him out."
Xing finally lifted his head from Dingjie’s neck.
He slowly turned his gaze to his three bandmates. The murderous fury that had been in his eyes at the police station was gone. In its place was a fierce unyielding protectiveness that was somehow even more intimidating. His eyes flashed with a momentary red glint of pure Alpha instinct.
He pulled Dingjie flush against his side, wrapping a strong arm securely around his Omega’s waist, tucking Dingjie’s head beneath his chin.
"Shut up," Xing said. His voice rang with absolute unquestionable authority.
He glared down at his three teammates, daring any of them to speak, daring any of them to breathe wrong.
"This is Qiu Dingjie," Xing stated. His tone leaves zero room for argument, debate, or PR management. He tightened his grip, pressing a kiss to the top of Dingjie’s messy hair. "He is my Omega. He is my mate. He has been mine ever since college."
Jiang Heng’s soul appeared to leave his body.
Li Peien let out a sound that was half squeak, half gasp.
Hao Xuan simply stared, his eyes and mouth forming a perfect 'O'.
The van hurtled down the Bangkok highway, carrying four idols, one traumatized boyfriend, and a secret that was about to change the trajectory of their lives forever. []